


my amortentia is cinnamon and nutmeg and knotgrass

by poisonrationalitie



Series: Harry Potter Expanded Universe [20]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Romance, F/M, First Kiss, Fondling, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 17:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonrationalitie/pseuds/poisonrationalitie
Summary: he's in her bedroom for the very first time. / for writing club septermber, sophie's shelf, big mouth, dialogue prompt #10, and the yearly events insane challenge #688, no character names - both found on ff.net





	my amortentia is cinnamon and nutmeg and knotgrass

**Author's Note:**

> -Yearly Events Insane Challenge - #688 - no character names  
-Writing Club September - Sophie’s Shelf - Big Mouth - Dialogue Prompt #10

Her bedroom smelled like cinnamon. Maybe it was the candles. He wasn’t sure. A small desk was crammed into the corner, stacked to the brim with books, which often acted as a display for a plant. There was only one window, decorated with lemon curtains, high above her bed. The whole room smelt like her, felt like her. Of course, she was the centre of it all, sitting cross-legged on the bed, blonde hair loose around her face. She looked like a princess, he thought. 

The first few times had been at the Three Broomsticks or the Leaky Cauldron, where she worked. Then, on their first date-date, they’d sat in the living room of the townhouse she shared with four other girls and talked. People had bustled in and out, dropped into their conversations, shared tea and biscuits with them. It had been nice, but not intimate. Not like this. This was  _ very  _ intimate, and he was awfully aware of it, his face bright red. 

It was just a bedroom, he told himself. He’d seen inside before, but only briefly, when he’d come to greet her before going out and she’d run in for a coat. But it hadn’t been like this. The door wasn’t even closed all the way. Anyone could burst in. Still, at nineteen, it felt like there were  _ expectations.  _ Expectations that he’d maybe at least kissed a girl before. He didn’t know if she had kissed anyone. He was Gryffindor, he was supposed to be brave and good at these sorts of things, but honestly? In moments like these, he put all of it down to luck. He just happened to be holding a sword and the snake ran into it. What was he  _ doing  _ here? Maybe they were rushing this. They’d only started going out six months ago, though they’d been friends for a lot longer. He’d kept a framed picture of the two of them on his bedside table for over a year. He was sweating.  _ Oh, Godric,  _ he thought.  _ Now I’m going to smell.  _

“Your bedroom is really nice,” he said, fidgeting awkwardly. It was the truth. He still had the same bedroom he’d had since he was a baby, at his grandmother’s house. “Is that knotgrass? On the red book.” She turned her head to check.  _ She’s so pretty.  _

“It is,” she confirmed. “I’m trying to learn some home brewing techniques. I thought I’d attempt to make knotgrass mead.”

“It looks really healthy,” he replied. “You’re doing good.”   
“Thanks.”

Only a few minutes ago they’d been relaxed, chatting away in the living room. Part of him wanted to return to that setting. Stay friends. At least, it was the easier option. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss her - or touch her, or - he just didn’t feel that he  _ could.  _ What if he did something wrong? What if he made her uncomfortable, or hurt her? A large lump sat in his throat. He still stood midway between the door and the bed, frozen stiff. 

“I don’t bite,” she said, and his cheeks went pink. “But we can go back to the living room if you’d prefer. I don’t want to-”

“It’s okay,” he said, breathing hard. His legs were heavy, but he managed to move them, brows creasing. He lumbered towards one of the shelves. Framed photographs of her and her parents showed a smiling young girl. At least she had known her parents, properly, even if it was cut short. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, turning to face her. “I’m just - I’m a little nervous because I’m a total virgin.”

Her face turned even pinker, but she laughed. She was gorgeous when she laughed. “I - I wasn’t thinking of  _ that.” _ He opened his mouth to talk, then closed it. He covered his eyes with his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t - we don’t have to - I don’t expect-”

“I’d feel better if you sat down,” she said, pressing her knuckles to her lips. She had nice lips, he thought. He really wanted to kiss them. 

“Sorry,” he said, once again, and wished he hadn’t. Pressing his lips tightly together to ensure he  _ shut up,  _ he sat on the bed. The covers were soft beneath him, and the mattress felt like a cloud. It was definitely more comfortable than this.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I know I’m awkward and dorky and not very good at any of this. But I really like you. I don’t mean to be so - you know.” In a burst of courage, he took her hands. They were small in his large hands, and colloused from work. He ran his thumb over the grooves and bumps from years of work outdoors. Her eyes were a rich brown that reminded him of soft earth, ripe for planting. He wanted this, he wanted her. So badly. His hands were starting to shake, and she gripped them harder, steadying him. “I - can I kiss you?” 

“Please,” she said, her voice throaty. Her eyes shut, golden lashes dusting the roses of her cheeks, and he leaned forwards. She smelt like cinnamon, too. His lips bumped hers, softly, and his eyes shut. 

It made him thankful he’d waited for this, for her. Some were happy to get it over with young, and good for them, but this was what he wanted. His heart blossomed like a bud in springtime. Only when he felt he was going to die from a lack of oxygen did he pull back, taking a breath and opening his eyes. He felt dizzy. She was beaming, and touched her fingers to her lips. 

“Oh,” she said. 

“I want to kiss you again,” he told her. She leaned forward, this time, pressing harder, and one hand touched his cheek. He shut his eyes, and cautiously moved one hand to her hair.  _ So soft.  _ He cupped the back of her head with his hand, and she kissed him harder. He found himself clutching at her hair when she pulled back, her lips redder and slightly swollen. His blood pumped hard.

“You’re gorgeous,” he told her. “You’re beautiful. And smart, you’re really smart. You know all the medicinal flowers and their uses off by heart, and you’ve taught yourself potions. And you’re so kind.” Her eyes glistened. Then she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He put his hands on her waist the same way he had at the Yule Ball. Every nerve tingled. 

“You taste like sunshine,” she told him. “You make my heart happy. After - after Mum and Dad, I didn’t think I could be happy again. But I am, with you.” He felt dizzy. Giddy. She was on her knees on the bed, above him, and the light streamed from the tiny window behind her. She looked like an angel. He tilted his head and pecked her nose. It was squishy and soft and he wouldn’t have minded fighting another war if it meant he could kiss it just once more. 

She shuffled, and was half-kneeling above his lap and half-sitting in it. He could feel the blood pumping, and hoped she didn’t notice. Now wasn’t the time. He caught a few strands of her hair between his fingers and kissed them. Then he kissed her nose again, and her lips, briefly, before letting his mouth fall slightly open.. Her breath didn’t taste like cinnamon. It tasted like nutmeg, actually. His tongue touched her teeth. Was he meant to do that? She didn’t pull away. Only when he was breathless did he. And then he planted a kiss on the corner of her lips, and then a few of her freckles, and then her chin and jawline. Her hands were in his hair, and as they moved around each other, there was a slight  _ tug.  _ He didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all. 

“Can I say something?” he asked, pulling back. She looked down, and nodded, their eyes meeting. “This isn’t just - I’m not just saying this, because of this. You know. This is probably a bad time. But I - I think - no, I’m sure - I love you.” He shut his eyes. “I do. I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Please don’t be sorry,” she said, her voice high. His eyes flung open, and he searched her face, looking for anger or anxiety. But she was smiling. “Because I love you too. And not because of this. But I do love this.”

“Me too,” he said, his whole body relaxing. There was a warm glow inside of him. She  _ loved  _ him. They loved each other. And for the first time since the war, he knew for certain that everything was going to be alright.


End file.
